


It Still Feels The Same

by gravygremlin



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24480586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravygremlin/pseuds/gravygremlin
Summary: Steve refuses to acknowledge that he's sick, and Bucky tries to take care of him anyway.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 71





	It Still Feels The Same

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written fanfiction before, I'm just out here doing my best lmao  
> Prompt: “You’re trembling.” “I’m not trembling,” from Star Wars Episode II
> 
> Thanks [suprnova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suprnova) for betaing!

It was odd to share an apartment with someone you barely knew. Bucky understood that he and Steve had been best friends once, but it was a lifetime ago, and his memories were still fuzzy. It felt almost like remembering a dream. The ease of conversation that he thought he remembered, and Steve missed, was gone.

He almost recognized him as the Steve he had gone on missions with, but those memories were even more faded than the earlier ones--he remembered a different Steve than the one that was sitting on their couch. His Steve was smaller, frailer, and sick what felt like every other week. This Steve was strong, and Bucky wasn’t sure he could get sick. At least, he hadn’t been sure before. 

Steve was on the couch reading a magazine. With his enhanced senses, Bucky could swear he was shivering slightly. The scene felt familiar, like when Steve had been stuck in bed with pneumonia and Bucky had to take care of him (which had happened an unfortunate number of times). Bucky stood up from the counter he was leaning on and walked to the couch behind Steve. He hesitated for a moment, but placed his right hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve started, but he didn’t flinch in the way Bucky was afraid of.

“Hey,” he said, looking up at him and smiling warmly.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked. He could feel the tremor moving through Steve’s powerful shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“You’re trembling.”

“I’m not trembling,” Steve replied, indignant as ever. Bucky recognized that from the old Steve as well.

“Are you cold?” Bucky asked, ignoring him. He grabbed some blankets from a cabinet despite Steve’s protests. Returning to the couch, he wrapped one gently around his shoulders, and Steve pulled it tighter in spite of himself. 

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted.

“I’ll make hot chocolate,” Bucky decided. He thought that was the right thing to do in this situation. He managed to remember where everything in the kitchen was, and soon he stirred a mixture over the stove. After it was heated through, he poured it into two mugs and brought one to Steve.

“Thanks, Buck, but you don’t have to do this. I’m fine,” he insisted.

“I know I don’t have to,” Bucky scoffed. He didn’t mind taking care of Steve, it felt natural to him. If nothing else, it was a nice change of pace from Steve dealing with Bucky’s paranoia and flashbacks. He always handled them with nearly overwhelming compassion, but that didn’t stop Bucky from feeling like a burden. How was it possible that after all these years and the countless horrible things he’d done, he deserved this man’s warmth?

He didn’t realize he had been staring wordlessly into space until Steve asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged. 

Steve patted the spot on the couch next to him, transferring his mug to his left hand to accommodate the gesture. “Come sit.” 

Bucky listened, taking a seat where Steve indicated, although tentatively. He was still trying to feel out the boundaries of their new relationship. He wasn’t sure, but he assumed he wasn’t supposed to touch Steve, so he was careful to keep the space between them. Steve took a sip, holding the mug with both hands again to allow its warmth to seep into them. Maybe he imagined it, but Bucky thought he saw Steve’s shaking start to subside.

“Feel any better?”

“A bit, yeah,” Steve replied with a sheepish smile. “Thank you.”

Bucky nodded and relaxed into the couch, although he hadn’t realized before how stiff his posture was. Steve, sensing the tension leaving Bucky, leaned back and closed his eyes. Bucky automatically assessed him--cheeks flushed, likely a slight fever, a crease between his brows pointed to a headache--it seemed like a common cold. Bucky suddenly noticed the silence between them had stretched for a little too long. 

“I didn’t think you could get sick anymore,” he started, somewhat hesitantly.

“I’m not sick,” Steve said, eyes snapping open to look at Bucky. “I can’t get sick.”

“Then what’s happening?” He refused the urge to roll his eyes.

“It’s just cold in here.”

“No.”

“What?” Steve asked, caught off guard by Bucky’s terse response.

“It’s about 65 degrees,” he explained. “It isn’t any colder than usual.”

“Are… are you sure?” 

Bucky nodded, and took a long sip of his hot chocolate before setting it down on the coffee table in front of them. “So if you’re not sick, what’s wrong?” His mind went straight to the worst case scenario. People were always trying to hurt Steve--he had no lack of enemies--maybe he was poisoned? Infected with some advanced virus that worked against super soldiers? Dying? “Maybe we should go to a hospital.”

“No,” Steve said, loud enough to make Bucky jump. A flash of remorse crossed Steve’s face, and he softened his voice the next time he spoke. “No, we’re not going anywhere. It’s probably just a cold.”

“Probably?” Probably wasn’t good enough. Bucky had memories of Steve refusing to call a doctor until he was on death’s door, hazy but still harrowing. He saw a vivid flash of Steve’s all too thin body, wracked with coughs because Bucky had let him stay home when he insisted he was fine. Steve must have realized where Bucky’s head was, because he touched his hand gently to bring him back to the present.

“I’m fine. And if I’m not better by tomorrow, I’ll go see someone. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky said. Not ideal, but it was probably as close to a compromise as he would get from Steve’s stubborn ass. They sat together, enjoying each others’ silent company, and Bucky tried not to watch Steve too intently as he drained his mug and put it on the table next to Bucky’s.

“It’s not like before.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna be okay, Buck. It’s like I got a whole new immune system.”

“I know,” he hesitated. “It just reminds me of before, is all.”

“Me too,” Steve hummed. He smiled, and chuckled softly.

“What’s so funny?” Bucky frowned.

“I’m just… really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” Carefully, like he was afraid of overwhelming him, Steve leaned over to rest his head on Bucky’s right shoulder. The contact felt foreign at first, but Bucky leaned into it, wrapping an arm around him. Despite the size difference, it still felt like he remembered from when Steve had been sick before. It felt comfortable, and safe.

“This is okay?” Steve asked softly. 

“Mhmm,” Bucky responded, tightening his hold and resting his head on the back of the couch. After a few minutes, he looked down to see Steve’s eyes shut. Maybe he could close his eyes as well--he hadn’t gotten much rest the night before, and the heat of the sleeping man cuddled next to him was calming. He slowly shut his eyes, a contented smile dancing over his lips, and he faded into sleep.


End file.
